


Red Bird

by Enfleurage (Epices)



Category: Samurai 7
Genre: Akira Kurosawa, Anime, Drama, F/M, Friendship, Kougakyo, Kyuzo - Freeform, Nobuseri - Freeform, OC, Omine - Freeform, Samurai 7 - Freeform, Shimada Kambei - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-04-14
Updated: 2012-04-14
Packaged: 2017-11-03 15:55:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 14,876
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/383231
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Epices/pseuds/Enfleurage
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The story of how Kyuzo got his twin katanas, his red coat and also earned a friend. Featuring Kyuzo, an OC, a pup hound named Mushi, some people from Kougakyo and some Nobuseris too.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Unfulfilled Desire

**Author's Note:**

> (1)Note! I apologize for any setting mistakes and if there are some elements in the story that are incoherent when it comes to the setting or descriptions. I don't fully grasp the Samurai 7 universe so I filled in the lacks with imagination!
> 
> (2)Note! Do notice I didn't use the 'san' or 'sama' or 'dono' suffixes to the character's names, mainly because I didn't want to. You can pretend they are included in the actually dialogs if you want, though.
> 
> (3)Note! The story starts 3 years prior to the actual story.
> 
> Disclaimer: Samurai 7 belongs to Akira Kurosawa.
> 
> Soundtrack! When it comes to writing, music is muse. The story is divided in multiple parts that each have their soundtrack. Samurai – Samurai 7 OST is to 'unfulfilled desire'. Kirara's theme – Samurai 7 OST is to 'a ticket out'. Set fire to the rain by Adele is obviously to 'rain on fire'. The Meadow by Alexandre Desplat is to 'flourish'. Niji Musubi (Tying Rainbow) by Rin is to 'the red bird'. You are invited to listen to those songs while reading.

It dates back to those unspoken times. Those times that were never revealed, never questioned, almost like a secret, selflessly protected and guarded, even seen as a weakness for all; the past of the Seven Samurais.

Kambei, Katsuhiro, Gorobey, Sichiroji, Kikuchiyo, Heihachi, Kyuzo.

When they met, gathered by the priestess who sought out help for her trampled village, all they had in mind was the question of courage and honour, of a duty that could pass their time and maybe give them a taste of what they had lost, or what they had yet to discover.

They did not question too much who each of them were; some had fought in the war against the Nobuseri many years ago, some wanted to be led onto the same path, most of them still had yet to discover who they truly were. When they were joined and linked by their mission, all that mattered was that they were all swordsmen, samurais that fought with the sharp tip of their soul, and that were willing enough to fight off the bandits in exchange of rice, a meagre prize without praise. They did not speak or inquire or question further more, and leaned over their task.

But the memories and the past they left behind, what carved them into what they became; it never left. Even when four of the seven samurais lost their lives and were buried in Kana Village, their memory mourned but honoured, the path they walked did not shrivel away, and the people that had been part of their lives did not vanish upon same tune. The story of how they came to be lives on, albeit untold. But that can be remedied.

Here is a fragment, really just a piece, of his untold tale. The red-coated samurai that Katsuhiro looked up to so much, and to whom Kambei promised a rematch. Words rarely fluttered through his mouth, and somehow everyone knew there was no need for him to speak any more than he did. He wasn't very friendly. He was fashioned as intimidating but extremely skilled; he was a creature that wore a pulsing heart, but who's emotions vibrated like the drunken hum of cicadas in those old long summer nights ago.

.

.

_.unfulfilled desire_

That time Kyuzo barely made it alive. It was just a slip in the system, and not in his skills. It was a dark night, sombre like ink, but cool and fresh and perfect for a run, a few strikes and a job well done. He was at Ayamaro's service, still, and the time was barely three years before he met Kambei and the others. At that time he was just as disinterested as he'd be when he'd joined the troupe, simple as a koi circling the pond, but precise and effortless in his steps, inexpressive through his eyes.

It had been said some Nobuseri's had turned rebellious, ignoring the Emperor's command to raid villages and take the harvested rice. Instead they had taken a liking in Kougakyo, the subordinated iron bins appearing on the streets and causing chaos among the merchant's city population. Kyuzo was certain the Ronins were looking for something.

Kougakyo was a city of trading wares and production, a bustling nest for ambitious merchants. Somehow the Nobuseri had found in it interest, and the Emperor had been quick to send a missive to the Magistrate, along with a generous troupe of soldiers. Somehow Kyuzo had found himself among the ranks.

He wasn't certain why, but he knew his heart wanted to skip a beat. He wanted to run, to strike and to fly, to rush his soul into battle. He wanted to fight another war, and ever since the end of the actual thing he had not had the occasion to feel alive. He had stayed untouched and unstained, saving himself from ruin and fall by trapping himself in the demands of the capital and the magistrate. It was no good for a wild heart like his. It was no good for any samurai, and he wanted to be pinned off the wall of security and luxury, and honed by the edge of a blade once again. And maybe that's why he was following the mass of darkly-clad soldiers, sent to investigate the group of rebellious Nobuseri, beyond the desert circling Kougakyo and towards a greener region that gave birth to mountains and forest. There were no villages around, but the wall of mountains was a cover as good as any other.

He did not like the sound of the Emperor's soldiers. They had mechanical steps, but no ambition or passion in their movements. He made quick to dislodge himself from them and glue his gaze to the sky. And that's when he saw it, the Nobuseri airship, tall and weaved strangely like a monster with too thin legs. He thought he could see eyes implanted in the façade.

Stolen, too. With less iron-binned soldiers flying around. The ship was certain to be containing far less ammunition and men than a usual Harvesting Forest. It would be easy to take it down. The troupes were mobilized but Kyuzo wasn't listening. He gripped his katana tighter, urging the leader with his mind to speak faster or not speak at all.

The fool wanted to resonate with the Nobuseri leader first. Get some explanations and try to convince the machines to fall back into step and keep doing as the Emperor commanded them. Kyuzo knew that it would fail. And it did. When the canons overhead fired he was the first one to dash out of the ranks, leap and strike.

It was almost a war. The sky turned to fire, and the air became explosives. Figures were being swallowed whole, some others trashed down like manikins, while he kept on rising higher and higher, his blade cutting through the iron bins capriciously, and he waiting for the fantastic feeling of battle to overwhelm him. It did not come though, and he started feeling angry. Angry that they were so easy to defeat. Angry that there was no proper man out there to come stand in his way and give him some second thoughts. A man of flesh and wielding a true katana. Who could daunt him. Outlaw him.

Come on, he thought as he whipped the air and turned the machines to debris.

And then a canon fired at him and he felt his flank burning. He twisted in his fall and deflected another blow, and the katana in his hand shivered. His eyes widened slightly as his feet found ground again, but he had to promptly roll aside for now the entire attention was on him.

Scattered bodies everywhere. The Emperor's troupes were losing. Bloody hell.

Kyuzo broke into a run, but he did not go far as pain shot through his flank. He almost tripped, but he buried his katana in the ground to steady himself and have a look around. Bodies scattered everywhere.

He shushed the pain and equipped his katana once again, fiercely protesting to idle procrastinating. And when his blade met with the solid carapace of a landed Nobuseri's body, the katana broke in two. He stared, wide-eyed, as the blade cracked and jolted into the pieces. Then the ground was being blasted under his feet and what followed was conundrum.


	2. The Ticket Out

.the ticket out

When he blinked his eyes open, jolted as if thunder had struck through his chest, shame flooded through his veins for still being alive. The memory of his failure vibrated like a wound, fresh and sore, although his body had numbed the way it never did. He dared not to look on the sides, and for long minutes kept his red eyes fixed on the ceiling, listening for a stirring sound, a breath, and any indication of where he might be.

Because the ceiling he was staring at was low and streaked with light, the chamber smelling of coal, crumbled ashes and smoking wood. He inhaled through parted lips and recognized the traces of the wild beast doth named spring, the echo of some rattling birds. He could not hear the whir of Kougakyo outside the windows, the shuffle of maids and staff in the corridors. He wasn't in his chamber at the Magistrate's residence. This wasn't even the residence. He attempted to move an arm and it only brought him a flock of pain. His eyes swiveled to the right.

If he hadn't been a man of gelid breath he would have surely been taken aback and probably shaken in surprise, although he met the stare with the same addled stillness of the one who was looking at him.

She sat on the floor, a few paces away from where he lay on the mat, her legs tucked under her body and her hands resting on her thighs. She was dressed in a man's discoloured garb, and her head was covered with a dark hood from which escaped wisps of bright copper hair, almost as red as autumn's leaves. Her face was mostly shadowed, but he saw too well her vibrant green eyes, glued to him in a pensive and evaluating manner. Her lips were pressed in a thin line, and no emotion crossed her face when his eyes met hers. She did not flinch and her body did not shift, nothing in her creaked the way it did in most people when they met his gaze. There was almost of a challenge in those green eyes of her.

The space between them gathered with a heavy silence. Secretly Kyuzo tried to take back the reins of his body; he knew he was wounded, gauze and bandages leashed to his chest, numb fingers and an indistinct fatigue, all hidden by the thin covers he lay under. And the woman kept staring at him, waiting, perhaps. He tried to get up and it served him right. His face twitched in pain, and a smirk slowly appeared on the woman's face, barely visible under the shade of her hood.

"If you want to know where you are, you may just ask."

Her voice was like a thick summer breeze, low and steady, clear and ringing. She did not stand up or move a hand, but her eyes shone with an amused glint; he was being the wilt of that amusement.

Kyuzo tightened his jaws, letting go of their stare show-down, giving the room a look. It was small, barren except for the mat in the middle of the room and some healing supplies nearby. It was not decorated, simple and plain. But there was no open screen to see beyond, no door open to a crack to peak through.

His fingers searched for the grip of his sword, but it was an unserved instinct. He didn't like the vulnerability. The fact he couldn't move, get up and simply walk out to find out where he was and what the quickest way back to Kougakyo was. Each delayed second was a blow to his responsibility to report to the Magistrate, to get rid of the traitorous Nobuseri, to… He suddenly shut his eyes tight, a din surfacing in his head. On top of all he hated the fact he was lost and didn't actually know how far things had gone. How could he have taken so many blows and ended up like this.

"My bad, you're mute."

"I'm not mute," he answered, his voice coming out croaked and dry, and he lifted himself up. He did his best to ignore the pain, pushing away the cover to get a glimpse at his bandaged chest; it did not look that bad. A few gashes and cuts, bruises, just…

"You have a few broken ribs." He heard her say matter-of-factly.

Just a few broken ribs, then…

She rose to her feet without looking at him. From the corner of his eyes he could see she was slim and sturdy-limbed. She spun on her heels to disappear behind a screen. He stared at the spot where she had been sitting previously, probably for many hours, with that attentive patience that radiated from her. Waiting for him to wake up?

While she was gone he did not bother wondering if he'd be able to get up and slip away, and instead pushed the cover away even further to flex his legs which were, thankfully, still in one piece. It was a good thing his dark pants were dark; making the blood on them disappear wouldn't be a hassle. But where his other clothes had gone was a mystery.

A scuffling sound. His head shot up, expecting the woman to be back, but instead he saw the face of a dog.

It was a dark burnt umber coloured hound, slim and with pointy ears set straight, and he was staring at Kyuzo with his pair of little eyes with not much interest. Or threat for that matter. Then the woman reappeared and shooed it away.

She had taken off her hood, freeing a waterfall of ginger curls. He could see her face clearly now, slightly freckled and heart-shaped. She knelt down beside him, putting down a bundle she slowly unwrapped. Inside rested the remains of his katana.

"It's messed up really badly, beyond repair. Although it was a really cheap weapon, so no surprise there."

Agreed, he thought as he took one piece in his hand. The katanas he had been offered when becoming the Magistrate's body guard had all been poor replicas of the weapon he had used to fight in the war, and since then he had personally tried to find a replacement. One that could cut through the Nobuseri without fail. The sword of a true samurai. But he wasn't technically a samurai anymore.

She was looking at him with those unflinching eyes again. Her gaze wasn't curious. It wasn't fearful, or hopeful. He had the feeling she was waiting for a reaction. For emotion to cross his face. A sigh. A whimsy. A stirring breath. But he was a locked up book; he only looked up to meet her eyes like before and once again they hammered silence into the room with a stare contest. She was tenacious; he could say that at least. Her phlegmatic aura could even rival with his own.

"What would your name be?" he finally asked after a while, dropping the piece of metal back into the little pile of debris. Not that he particularly cared, but maybe then he'd have a clue of where he was. The woman blinked. "Your's first."

"Kyuzo."

"Omine."

Nope. Not a clue. And he had given away his name for free.

"You better get up already," she said, and he saw a smirk flutter on her lips. She rose to her feet again, re-bundling the shards of his old blade and throwing them in a trash can beside the door. Then she disappeared again.

He was left alone again, without the dog poking his head in this time. His hand tightened around his ribs, and he felt murderous pain. It was so odd. He didn't usually get wounded. And yet here he was, wherever 'here' was, probably dead to the rest of the world. Taken in by a stranger. How had she even found him?

"I said, you better get up already." She stared at him from the gap, opening the screen wider, as if it was obvious that he was wasting her time. He stared back with some wonderment; how much ease she dared to put pressure into her words, as if she wasn't afraid of his cold demeanour, the one that had earned him such a frightful reputation. But he got up eventually, waving away the pain and the numbness away, following her out and trying not to limp. The dog popped up again and inserted himself behind his master, trotting dutifully and according no glance to Kyuzo.

She made him pass through a hallway, and it wasn't that bad; he made it without tripping over his feet or breaking in two. Although now that he was up, his desire to leave was bubbling up. And so was his curiosity, of who the woman might actually be, and what had actually happened when the world had blacked out for him on that night.

Omine slid open one last screen, letting the dog run past her into what seemed a much larger room. She stepped aside, smirked and waved a hand. "After you." He kept his eyes on hers as he passed, before entering. And stopping short.

Above his head, on the ceiling, but also on the four walls around him were lined weapons. Swords of all sorts, lances and knifes, their polished blades gleaming like firelight. Pined to the walls like butterflies, on display and in perfect lines. And all he saw above his head seemed a hundred times better than the weapons he could find in Kougakyo. Every each of the walls was covered. It was almost magnificent, the feeling that any of these weapons could fall at any moment, drop from the sky and into his hands.

"Welcome to my sword shop," he heard Omine say quietly, although the words were prideful, and she had noticed the slight surprised part of his lips. She walked past him with certain buoyancy, down the little set of stairs, and towards the counter installed in the middle of the room. Her dog came to sit beside her feet, although he quickly settled for a lounging instead. "The finest weapons you will find the region. Made with love and care. I'd like you not to be shy and have a look."

"Who made all these?" he asked as he approached a wall to dislodge a katana. He felt the curve of the sword in his hand, ran his thumb over the hamon of the sword. He saw the weeks it took to polish the weapon and the work that had been indulged into its creation, and gently put it back.

"I did," he heard Omine say, without a trace of contempt in her voice. It was just another obvious thing, although he had trouble believing. A female smith? He hadn't yet seen one of those. And living alone? He hadn't either spotted anyone else in the house, heard no footsteps nor even a hidden breathe. She was living alone and smiting those swords by herself. How odd.

He felt something spark in his chest. The churning desire to grip a pommel in his hand, and swing a blade forth, feel the air cut and whistle, for his spine to shudder the way it did during a good battle. A good battle. He hadn't had one of these in a long time. He turned around. "How long has it been?"

Omine stayed quiet for a moment, as she narrowed her eyes and folded her arms. "Just two days. You were out for two days, although that's not enough time to heal up your broken ribs. But I knew you were dying to know in which rabbit hole you had fallen." She looked around, a wisp of her curly red hair falling over her eyes. "I think it's a good rabbit hole to fall into for a samurai." He did not answer, dropping his hands to his side. He could feel her stare on him, again.

"I saved you because I could. I saw the battle, and it went pretty badly, mind you. I was close of where you had fallen. I took a chance."

So you are woman who plays with fire and shapes the metal's soul, and also takes strolls beside battlefields?

"Thank you," he replied nevertheless, for politeness' sake, and she nodded.

She looked down at her dog, stroking him on the head. "Mushi, come boy," she said, before turning and walking away without another word to the blond. He watched her go and with some reluctance followed her out of the shop's main room, back through the hallway and out into in the open.

It was late afternoon, and there was no bright light to blind him. She had brought him to a court yard. In the middle of it stood a large stony building with archways instead of doors, which he guessed must be her workshop. He could see tables and tools lying on the floor or hooked to the wall, as well as scraps of metal, pots of clays and other material. There was a little garden on the left side, and the smell of blossoms and wet earth orchestrated gently with the aroma of smoke and coal. Beyond it all stretched the forest, dark and whispering, and Kyuzo once again wondered how far this place was from Kougakyo.

Omine sat down on the wooden stairs, folding her arms over her lap. The tumbling wind shook her hair, seemingly even redder here where the sunset reached, the dawning rays of the sun calling farewell. Her dog bolted down the stairs to trot around, leaving them both to be. The birds wound themselves up one last time, creaking springs and clinking cogs, to thrum out their warbles and trills. The night was soon to come in color, and the woman had stopped speaking. He sat down beside her, but still a certain distance away, breathing relief out of his raked lungs as the pain subdued and he could rest, admitting that he was undoubtedly not fit for the quickest of strides. He kept on feeling shameful.

"That's an insignificant name for a dog," he said with his usual raspy voice back, and she arched her fine-lipped face toward his.

"He doesn't mind it." She brought her fingers to her lips, and whistled like a bird, summoning her pet back to her feet. The dog melted under her strokes and caresses, and Kyuzo watched idly from aside.

"Here is not far from Kougakyo," she said after a while, in that steady, unpreoccupied tone of hers. "It's not so far from where you ambushed the Nobuseri, either. I've been hearing them roaming around for quite some time. But you'll probably know how to get your way back to the Magistrate if you step out from the forest."

He swivelled his gaze towards her leaning figure, waiting for her to tell him how she had found out about his job. But she didn't speak no more until the red line of the sun had left and the fireflies came out. "You're welcome to stay here longer if you like, too."

And he did.

He stayed for a week and a few days more, damned with his own thoughts and his little desire to get back to the city and his role as a boy guard. He was fairly certain he was dead to the world, and how could that be such a bad thing?

The days when being a samurai brought whatever pride were gone, and the Nobuseri, the ronins who had geared themselves up into the metallic, thudding cages they called powerful bodies, had started the latest trend. Many of the comrades he had known during the Great War had succumbed to the desire to shake earth and sky like thunder itself, and he had been offered the choice too. But he had refused to lower himself to such a despicable state, where honour did not come in play anymore. He had refused to lose himself in tangled wires and coursing electricity, preferring the pounding of blood in veins. But what were, dare say, those who had kept their feet to the ground?

Forgotten children, who had ended up either poor, useless, or hired as mere guard dogs. Like himself.

He didn't hate his job. He had never complained, and it had kept him on the tracks, high above the scraps and scums the considered themselves as samurai. He had been given enough freedom to shrug off the fact a chain existed, and to puff some bluff on his remaining, graced honour as a swordsman. It had indeed tarnished his senses 0f well-being as a samurai, but no true samurai existed anymore. And so, dwindling, he had stayed here.

Omine had been right; Kougakyo was not far away. He recognized the forest where they had found the Nobuseri, and that was barely a day of walk away from the bustling city.

Her house and her shop were tucked in tightly between trees. It was a wooden and three-stories high, empty and quiet, the home to wind and rustic shades. Omine owned a horse too, which she used mainly to get around quickly and there were afternoons when she'd disappear with bundles to deliver. Kyuzo would thus stay alone in the house, watching the sun skid across the floor. But between the low ceilings and each wooden board of the floor remained relics of tender times where the house had been more crowded, lively.

She told him once of her father, never looking at him. She rarely did when she told tales.

"The shop belonged to him, and he taught me to do what I do now. He and my brother fought in the Great War. None of them came back, but I was expecting as much, and so I did the only thing that was left to do; pick up the work that had been left aside."

When she happened to be sharing secrets, he did not answer. She didn't want him to, either, and thus he sat in silence, leaning against a tree beside her work shop, while she hammered spirit into the metal, heating, melting, moulding, with precise strikes and movements; a routine.

She was a strange creature, he could say as much. Still so young, her heart like lead in the shape of ambition. She walked around in covering attires, often with gloves, concealing the rough skin of her hands. She wore goggles when sitting beside the furnace, and often he saw her walking around with her hood, or her long curly hair bundled up. There were days when she braided it, too, spending long minutes on the stairs of her court yard upon morning's wake, her fingers running through her hair as if her mane was a waterfall of fire.

There was some touch of grace to her movements when she worked; she was quick and precise, although sturdy, like a man. He could not see in her the petal-hearted form of a woman that fancied jewellery and beauty, lusted for attention and gifts. She was a strange, refreshing sight compared to the women that dawdled in the palace and frolicked around the Magistrate's son. And she did not blabber, either.

No words were uttered from her mouth when she lost herself to her concentration, and if Kyuzo had ever decided to slip away when she had her back turned, he doubted she'd notice. In her silent resolution she was the best company he could wish for, and she did not question his quiet ways either.

He could picture but too well the depressive realism in which she dabbled her days, alone with her creations and her passions, the absence of distraction plunging her into isolation even deeper. She wore no remorse, no aggression or disjointed desperation, and he fell in love with the idea of such peace.

It's in this way he spent his healing days too, mainly watching her lean over a new katana, hard at work, oblivious to the world around her. Many times men came to the shop for a purchase, and in those times Kyuzo stayed behind with Mushi in the garden, listening to the men boast loudly. They all wanted the most beautiful pieces, or the strongest-looking, anything to get the attention of a crowd. Kyuzo listened until the clients were gone, waiting for Omine the come back, walk past him and back into her shop without a word.

One day she offered him to have some fun and pick a weapon from the display. He looked at her quaintly when she proposed the idea, and when he did not move she went to grab a sword for him herself. "You can't stay so idle all the time. Shake off the rust."

Thus he'd spend afternoons, twisting and striking invisible targets in the garden, in the beautiful, dance-like way samurai fight, while Omine sat on the stairs and watched with her steady green eyes, refraining Mushi from bolting to him and potentially getting injured. He spent such marrowless days enclosed in the swordsmith's world. Until the day she set him free.

Dusk was approaching, and he was listening to the old bray of his heart, and the sound of humming cicadas gripped it heavily. The little bugs did not exist in the city, and he hadn't known they called out so loudly.

Its then that Omine appeared, carrying a bundle. She sat down beside him on the stairs, closer than they'd ever sat. She was staring ahead in the distance, and he could not answer to her train of thought, black and deep as the wettest ink wells. He usually found himself able to gaze down into a person's soul; he could understand so much of the people that couldn't, in return, understand him. But in her own secret way Omine seemed to guess him better than most people did, and he had not yet succeeded in wittering away her gaze, or winning one of their stare contests. They always ended up in a tie.

"Here," she said blatantly when he'd though she would not speak, as she rested the long package in his lap. He blinked, staring at it.

"What is it?"

"Don't play dumb. You can guess what it is."

He untied the cord and pushed away the cloth. Two twin katanas. He had noticed them on the display before, tied to the ceiling, but never bothered to reach for them. Kyuzo slid one out of its case and ran his finger over the blade, following the reflection of his skin.

Simply-crafted, but masterfully. He could not see the difference between the two pieces, and they were spared of decorations and ornamentations. Simple and efficient, the way he liked them.

And again. That green, serious stare, obscured by the dark hood. She was looking at him as if he was going off to war, and in his mind he wondered if she had seen her father and brother away with the same incredibly earnest eyes. He looked away.

"This is not a gift," he heard her say sternly. She gripped his arm tightly. "I know what you're thinking. You don't want to owe me. And you don't, absolutely not. This is not a gift; it's your ticket out of here." Her frown did not soften when he turned to look at her again.

"There are hundreds of men, even maybe thousand, who have walked into the shop wishing to buy a sword. And very little who did and do are true to themselves. They don't know how to fight the proper way, with the heart. They think carrying a sword and self-proclaiming themselves as warriors will bring them fame and money, but you and I know it doesn't work that way. And you. I saw you fighting that night. Maybe you did take in some blows, but I knew instantly that once you used to be a true samurai. And you still are, you just have to find yourself back."

His eyes widened just slightly at the waterfall of words, and her gaze became even more tight and pressing. "I know you can understand the fact that the swords I make are like children to me. I give them life. I leave a part of my soul in each blade, and seeing one off with someone who won't be able to use it to its true potential is a shame. A waste and a shame."

She led of his arm and smiled a little smirk. "But you will do these katanas justice. I've seen the way you fight, they are perfect for you." She hoped to her feet then, slipping inside the house.

Kyuzo kept staring at the blades. Mushi had stayed behind, observing him with his little eyes, and his ears perked up when Kyuzo rose, unsheathing the last sword and taking both in his hands. They were so light he barely felt their weight. And when he stroke a few blows in the air, he saw how well they rode the air, and how strong the blade was. A blade that could cut through any metal.

He was starting to feel the exhilaration. The desire to own the katanas. The silver pommels fit perfectly in his hands, like two pieces of a puzzle, and he swung them in the air once again. There was so much more space to strike with two weapons at a time. He wanted them. Within seconds it had become a need and a craving.

"Here, that's for you too."

He spun around, barely succeeding in catching the new bundle. Omine walked up to him and took the twin swords out of his hands as he dealt with the bundle that unfolded into a long red trench coat.

"I saw it a few days ago in Kougakyo and knew it would fit you just right. See, it even matches the color of your eyes." A sheepish grin appeared on her face, and he couldn't refrain from smirking, too.

"Is that supposed to be a 'ticket out', too?"

"No, that's actually a gift. Or more like a necessary gift. I can't let you off with only that black jump suit you've been wearing the entire week, right?"

He slipped the coat on, and Omine had been right. It fit perfectly. It would be easy to fight in it too, to dodge and there would be no hindrance to his movements. Everything was falling into place.

"Thank you," he said, genuinely grateful. "I appreciate what you've done."

"Pleasure's mine," she replied as she tied to coat up nicely and stepped back for a proper look. "Yes, red really fits you nicely."

He left the next day. He had healed the best he could within such little time. The morning was bleary with sunshine, saturating the colors, and the world had awakened bare as a child's heart. Omine stood on the front stairs, waving goodbye as he walked away. She hadn't told him to come back, to visit again, or offered any bubbly farewell. She had only said she'd look out for his success during her trips to Kougakyo, and helped him fasten the twin blades to his trench coat. So he'd always have them protecting his back.

He looked back, as he walked away, at that house where he had succeeded in forgetting who he was. It all seemed so surreal. Mushi seemed reluctant at his departure, and Omine had brought back her hood on her face. She kept on waving until the trees folded around his figure and he was gone, carrying with him what would be his ticket back into life.


	3. Rain On Fire

_.rain on fire_

He had been right about the world thinking he was dead; when he entered the merchant city of Kougakyo and made his way back to the Magistrate's residence, he was earned handfuls of stares as he crossed hall ways and rooms, his steps thudding lightly on the shiny floors.

He could hear whispers swelling behind his back, both at the sight of his sudden appearance and new attire, but a well directed bleak stare succeeded to shut up most of mouths, and he continued on his ways to find Ayamaro.

He found the Magistrate concentrating upon a tedious task; the one to grab his son's attention long enough to hammer knowledge in his head. But the pampered blue-haired boy was untameable and was currently fancying whining other than studies.

" _Ahhhh no_ father how about we do this another time? I have some lovely girls waiting for me, and I'm sure they'll be able to teach me the same things in a much more interesting way," Kyuzo heard Ukyo say as he stood silently behind the screen. He could picture with no trouble Ayamaro's abraded expression at his son's carefreeness, and if Tessai was in the room too, Kyuzo did not doubt he was currently biting harder on his pipe. He saw Ukyo's shadow approach the door.

"I'll be on my way now," Ukyo said, and Kyuzo saw the boy's figure approaching the screen. But he was quicker to slide it open and when he did, Ukyo's face froze with momentary horror and the boy let out a strangled scream of surprise, backing away before falling behind.

Kyuzo stared down with no apparent expression crossing his face. He heard his name and looked up to see Ayamaro rising from his desk and Tessai jumping to his feet.

"Kyuzo. So you're back. We thought you were dead," Tessai said, and Kyuzo redirected his cold gaze towards the other man without a word. The two of them exchanged stares before Ayamaro made his way to the red-coated blond.

"Kyuzo, we know what happened, but…"

"It didn't go as planned. I apologize for my absence. I have returned."

Ukyo was finally rising to his feet, scoffing before summoning Tessai and walking out of the room. The man followed his master out, according one last glance at Kyuzo before he too was gone. The screen slid close and Kyuzo joined into the silence.

Ayamaro sighed. "There are times when I think my son is fit for absolutely nothing," he said, and Kyuzo offered no comment to encourage the statement. "But well, you're back now. Where have you been?"

Kyuzo did not utter word. He was well determined on keeping the location of his whereabouts of the previous days a secret, including the fact he had nearly not escaped with his life. Ayamaro was nevertheless used to his silences, and with a nervous blink didn't question him further. "The Nobuseri fled, and we haven't heard of them ever since, so we'll just leave it be for now. The Emperor is responsible for them anyway, and hopefully they are done messing around."

 _Highly improbable,_ Kyuzo thought.

And slowly, the windmill restarted churning. His days as the magistrate's body guard resumed, and he felt the old routine gnaw back at him and take over his senses. Kyuzo slowly forgot what it felt like sitting in Omine's garden, listening to the clinging sounds of her work, what it felt like having Mushi yap at his feet and plead for some attention.

He forgot the feeling of ease those days had wired in his heart, although he did not forget her green calm gaze, and that smile when he agreed to take her swords. No, that he could never forget, and at night, when he had the opportunity to slip away, he'd reach Kougakyo's highest observation point and sit down, unsheathing one of the twin katanas and watching the moon's reflection trace the line of its mune.

In those times he'd wonder what Omine was doing. Probably working late on her latest katana, finishing up the one she had started when he had arrived in her life. Or maybe she was sitting on the stairs of her garden with Mushi lounging beside. He'd imagine her red hair, blowing in the wind, and her green eyes following the curve of the blooming white roses that grew by her work shop.

He had never accorded another woman so many thoughts. He had always considered them as something fleeting and as a from time to time surveying craving, but he was almost thinking of the red-headed girl as if she was another man. She did not inspire desire, envy or jealousy. She was not tendered eyed and glimmering, brightly-clad and suave. In fact she was glaring audacity and she'd have done better being born as a man.

 _What an odd woman,_ he kept telling himself, although he couldn't quite perceive her acquaintance as unsatisfactory. In fact, the more he thought about her, the more he sowed respect and admiration into her memory, something he rarely did when it came to the people he met daily and worked with.

Such as for the lousy toad-faced Hyogo.

He, too, had been lost to dismay when he had spotted Kyuzo back by Ayamaro's side just as emotionless and cold as he'd ever been, as if the two weeks he had spent supposedly dead were nothing but a forgotten causality. He said nothing while in the Magistrate's company, but as soon as he found an occasion to corner Kyuzo he let out his usual bag of sarcasm.

"In my opinion, you were much better off dead," he said one day when they were the only two persons alone in a hallway. Upon those words he poked Kyuzo in the back with his koshirae, and the fair-haired Samurai stopped in his tracks, although he didn't turn around. He could feel Hyogo's smirk widening.

"No one knows where you've been, but I have a little idea. It wouldn't be that curious for you to have been plotting with the Nobuseri, no?"

Kyuzo narrowed his eyes, hearing Hogyo approaching.

"After all, you're the only one who hasn't been found dead or wounded after the failed attack. And here you are, back and all dressed up and even newly equipped."

He didn't need his eyes to see Hogyo lifting his hand to take hold of one of his katana's pommel, but he was a fool even trying. Kyuzo spun on his heels like the wind, unsheathing his twin katanas within half a second and locking them in a criss cross an inch away from Hogyo's neck.

Hogyo flinched, his gaze instantly pooling with hatred. "I always knew you were a trait-"

"I didn't expect you to be such a dreamer," Kyuzo said, before sheathing his katanas back into his back and walking away.

When a month had sipped and he was certain the roses on her bush had finished blooming, he went back. It was one of his days of respite, he left early in the gray morning, crossing the desert surrounding Kougakyo three times faster than a normal person would and thrusting himself into the forest until he found sight of the little path that led to the work shop.

Even when so close, he didn't know what he'd tell her. She hadn't asked him to come back. But there was not much for him to do in the merchant city when he was deemed not needed for the day. On the way there he couldn't stop thinking about what he'd tell her.

_The katanas work great._

_I came to see how you've been doing._

_Kougakio is mournfully dull today._

_Hello._

Or maybe words would not be needed, and she'd make him enter with only a nod. But the more he approached the more his senses sharpened.

Something wasn't right, and he could feel it. A strange and heavy aroma in the air. He couldn't hear the rustling in the trees or the faraway yapping of Mushi. He narrowed his eyes and stopped short, parting his lips to inhale. It smelled strongly like oil. The stench vitalized him, sending his lungs steaming. He was already guessing. His feet started moving.

Oil was not needed in the confection of swords, and there was no way Omine's house would reek so much of a material she didn't use. Kyuzo broke into a run, the forest whittling itself away as he emerged from the cover of the trees, climbing the front stairs and halting in front of the double doors.

They were slightly ajar, sweet morning light tracing a line through the gap. Kyuzo slowly slid the doors open.

Weapons that had their place on the walls and ceiling lay on the floor, scattered, some bloodied. Mushi's body lay further in the middle of the room. His head had been chopped off and tossed aside, now resting in a large pool of blood. The dog's eyes were blank and his tongue hung out of his muzzle.

As Kyuzo stepped in, he unsheathed his katanas. The smell of blood was strong, and the silence was like a barrier of briar thorns. His grip tightened on the pommels as he took another step in, feeling his breath hiss through his lips and spread into the wicked silence. His jaws clenched as he passed beside Mushi's beheaded body, and then one word.

"Omine."

He got no response, and then he bolted for the hallway. He ran up and down the house within less than a minute, calling her name, looking for a trace of her shadow, the sound of her footsteps, all this while his eyes grew slightly larger and the beating of his heart welled up into a sprint.

The house was empty. So was the garden. The horse had been chased away.

Kyuzo came back into the shop, his eyes trailing over the scattered weapons. He could guess most of the stash had been taken away, while some had been used to fight back.

" _I've been hearing them roaming around for quite some time."_

" _The Emperor is responsible for them anyway, and hopefully they are done messing around."_

He sheathed his katanas. And then he was out, thundering the ground as he leaped out and back into the forest, his eyes on the sky.

.

.

It was trying to impress her. She could guess as much as it swung its over-sized sword around while the two men held her arms tied in her back.

Men who had geared their hearts into a battery, wired their veins and oiled their blood; taller than any building, their voices louder than thunder. Alright, she was impressed. Impressed by how puerile they were, boasting of their strength and power. She could not see how any man could trade his flesh body for an anchorless metallic cage such as the one that hovered over her head.

"Are you listening, woman?"

Omine blinked. "I apologize, I wasn't. May you repeat?"

She could feel electricity coursing through the air, and as she studied their sharp features, she wondered where their eyes were. She felt miniscule, like a life sized paper doll, and even if her heart was beating against her rib cage like a hammer she did not falter in her calm and guarded demeanour. She couldn't, and it wouldn't help her case anyway. Another oily gust stirred her face and she cringed.

"You might as well cooperate."

"You killed my dog, why should I?"

"If you had followed us calmly the pup would still be alive."

"He wouldn't, and it's you who barged into my house." _Like a hurricane._

Omine wasn't completely defenceless. Her father had taught her how to wield the swords, and when one of the men who flew those smaller bins had crashed in she had been quick to fling knifes and lances at him. But, well, she was clearly out of practice when it came to fighting machines. Served her right.

"I remember your father," the ronin said, and that was enough for her to narrow her eyes in attention. The machine's laugh was like a rumbling motor, and she tried not to shiver in displease. "When I was once a weak little human. It was before the Great War, and he was the best swordsman around. I was surprised when I found out you ran the place now."

She didn't say anything and lowered her gaze. The stench of oil was churning her stomach and she was starting to feel sick. "Right. Lovely. What do you want?"

"Metal that even a Samurai's sword cannot pierce."

A sigh.

She remembered that day, many years ago before the War, when she was still a child. Her brother was a head taller, and to the contrary of her he wasn't terrified by the Nobuseri. He stood tall and straight as he wrapped his arms around her and assisted her in her eavesdropping.

That night their father and countless other swordsmen from Kougakyo had gathered in his house, to discuss of the futile attempts at creating weapons that could destroy the breathing machines. Blades that did not break, crumble, shatter or turn to dust when they encountered the solid carapace of a Nobuseri.

Running rumours advanced the idea of a way to create indestructible katanas, so that the Nobuseri could be destroyed, and peace put back to harvest. The men were doubtful, suspicious but hungry for hope, and Omine's father had just received a bundle of scrolls, supposedly explaining how to create those highly-aspiring blades.

Before he had set to war, he had instructed her how to create them, too. And then the war ended, and he was gone, and she was alone, and the days had rolled on one after the other, until today.

"I don't know how to create metal that even a samurai's sword cannot pierce. And I don't understand why you even bother; samurais don't exist anymore." A lovely lie, and for the first time in the evening she thought of the quiet blond samurai that did, in fact, exist.

The machine above her rumbled with gall, and the two men behind he berated her by twisting her hands around. She bit down her lip, managing to drown a cry.

"It's just a matter of time before they resurface. Now, shine up to your father's name and think about it."

She frowned in exasperation. "I told you _I don't know_. It's not a crime. Just go ask someone else."

"You're the last one the list."

"Is that why you've been sending out minions to Kougakyo? To search for swordsmen who could help you in your valiant quest to become even more powerful? Why did they say? I bet none of them knew, and if they didn't, than why should I? Just accept the fact what you're searching for is unavailable."

It 'laughed' again. "They refused to help, so they perished. But I knew your father well. If he'd still be alive, he'd already have acc-"

She cut its words short with a yell, her anger reaching heights. "Don't you dare assume what my father would do! Or say you knew him well! You're just a rusted pile of junk weaved together by probably nothing else than clay!"

Her words were still ringing when she buried her elbow in the first man's stomach, before whirling around and digging her knee into the other's. They both backed away and that was enough time for Omine to kneel and slip one of her tied hands into her boot, take out a long knife and cut the cords. She swirled around, ready to jump off the platform she had been brought to, when one of the men caught hold of her arm and delivered a strong slap across her face.

She shut her eyes, her mind swirling with the impact, and then her wrist was crushed and the blade was pulled out of her fingers. Then a line of pain traced her left cheek and she cried out in pain.

Her face met the floor, and weight was put on her back as her arms were reconquered. Her cheek was on fire but her voice had not been extinguished. "How many times will I have to tell you I don't know! Roll up more layers, mix different types of metals, I don't have a clue! I don't even know how you've been built, give me a break!" Her last words came out a high, strangled angry cry, and she wiggled on the ground, kicking and hissing.

During all this time the Nobuseri watched idly at her attempt to flee, but now he was lifting his sword overheard, and Omine followed its shadow with eyes growing wider. The column of a blade shot down and she closed her eyes.

Hurricane, again, in her ears. The ground under her body trembled, shook and creaked, and smoke filled her lungs. Shards scrapped her face and neck, and she rolled up on herself as best as she could, her body falling into a trembling shiver. When she dared to open her eyes again she saw the large sword dislodging itself from the platform, leaving behind a huge gap, like a mile-long crevice, not so far from where she lay.

"We'll get you everything you'll need. That you like it or not, the choice has been made for you."

She spat on the floor.

.

.

It was the same airship, lone in the sky, moving further away. A harvesting forest. Kyuzo could see the damage it had been inflicted a month earlier, and little had been done to patch it back together.

He wondered what the rest of the Nobuseri employed by the Emperor thought about this stolen ship, requisitioned by a group of rebellious metallic canes who thought themselves witty enough to get away with this.

He was observing the blinking shape of the ship from a tall tree, the foliage around him whispering as he kept his balance on the branch, his expression an implacable mask. His hand ran down the pommel of the lower katana, and his fingers itched to grip it and pull it out. He narrowed his eyes and the wind blew in his back.

The sun was setting down, but there was no orange and pink sky to greet the end of the day. The sky had darkened to even greyer velvet, and the air ship was folding itself in the monochromatic tones of the world's ceiling, and he was well determined to make his way into it and crush it inside out.

Whatever those Nobuseri wanted, she could not give it to them. She was not a warrior. She had not been involved in the war. She did not take delight in life or death. She was one of those who set the stepping stones for a man, and allowed him to trace his path with his blade. And when a man did not believe in himself, she believed in them, for them.

Kyuzo unsheathed his twin swords, stretching his arms on both sides of his body. He stood, straight as a column, as the rumbling sound of an engine grew closer, and when the mechanic iron bin shot out of the trees he leaped.

The katanas entered from the top and slid into the machine with a clean cut, and the bin heaved under his weight as he landed before crashing to the ground. He did not hear any strangled cry, but when he opened the top and threw the man out he found out he had been killed instantly. And the controls itself had not been damaged in the least. Perfect.

Getting up to the ship was easy enough, even too easy, and he was able to abandon the machine in a lone empty platform. He unsheathed his katanas and broke into a new run, his fingers tightening around the pommel and a fire igniting in his chest. His red coat wavered around his feet as he ran, and when he saw the first soldier he stroke, with a leap, high up in the air. He decided to be merciless. Blood, such insignificant thing, but so precious.

He swallowed their cries and exclamations of surprise with his strokes, the air inexistent as his blades became the new oxygen, giving wondrous birth to collapsing bodies and exploding machines. He let anyone who met his path bleed himself dry.

But it wasn't a real battle. He could not feel the passion, and the adrenaline did not burn the way it did when a sword met proper recognition, proper opponent. Kyuzo was just barrelling his way through the storm, a blazing figure in the swirl, driven by a debt. And when the real Nobuseri, the tall and large creatures of metal and wired came up, turning around to spot his approach, then did he smile a clamouring smirk that bled onto his lips as he gnashed chasms in those languid oily atrocities. But it wasn't an enjoying smile.

He stopped when the bitterness had turned to ice, and when the whirling sound was gone. He looked down at his weapons, gleaming with blood, but their blade still intact, curved, strong and shimmering. It did indeed cut through anything. He kept on moving though, through the dark pathways of the airship, until he could hear the rumbling voice of another of those iron-headed Nobuseri.

"Great. Just great. You've cut her up too much."

Kyuzo ended up in open space, a platform in the middle of an abyss, and in the middle of that, one man standing aside, the other holding up an arm which led to a bloodied figure, half crumbled on the floor. He thought he could see her red hair, but there was so much red, he did not know where it started or where it ended. He stepped back into the shadows.

The man who was holding her arm offered an anxious apologetic smile, and the Nobuseri roared in disapproval. Many curses would surely have insured if it wasn't for one of the soldiers in the iron bins who flew in to declare a samurai had made his way into the airship.

"…a samurai?"

The rain pouring through his mind was set on fire. Kyuzo leaped, knees bent, and landed on the top of the Nobuseri's weapon. He flicked his katanas down as he dashed up the sword and towards the Nobuseri, digging his blade into what was presumably his chest before tearing it up with one clean blow.

The place echoed with the thunder and blasts as Kyuzo tore through the Nobuseri, and he could not ignore that feeling of flight as he rose higher up, twisting and leaving flaming debris in his wake. The destroyed Nobuseri was tipping backwards now, and Kyuzo landed on his head, pushing him downward into the abyss bellow before leaping away and lending on the platform. He didn't stay to watch the mechanical creature disappear, and instead turned to the two men who had no yet fled. His katanas clicked in his hand and he glanced up. They did not have time to flee and their blood joined Omine's on the floor.

He crouched beside her, and his stomach twisted.

All the right half of her face was a mask of blood, sipping down her neck. He lifted her head up, and slipped a hand under her back to pull her up against his knee, but his hand was soon entirely covered in blood too, and when her back left the ground a river of blood dripped, and he turned her around.

Her back had been mutilated, her shirt torn by the countless of slashes that criss-crossed and ran along her back, from the neck to her waist, and all he could see was blood, blood and blood. His jaws clenched so tightly blood was soon in his mouth too, and he lifted up the woman in his arms.

He could hear her breathing, a faint nursed sound, and as he rose and ignored the oncoming soldiers, he hoped for it too stir just a bit longer.

His arms were too full for him to rake his katanas into anyone else, and so he left the ship in a rush, leaping down the iron bins and slipping down the debris he had tilled behind, before losing himself in his run. And he ran through the forest and into the desert until his surroundings were a blur, holding on tightly to the body in his arms, and only concentrating on his steps, always larger, quicker. He came to ignore his own rough breathing and the twisting pain in his stomach. He was in a hurry.

He entered the Magistrate's residence leaving blood behind his steps and scaring away the staff, but he kept running, even dodging aside Hogyo who can come up with a 'what the..!' until he found Ayamaro himself, deep into a conference with a few of his advisors. Everyone turned out to look, and Ukyo let out a shrill cry at the sight of all the blood, although Kyuzo ignored him and stood still, his face a tight mask. When no one said anything he walked up to Ayamaro.

"I have a favour to ask," he was surprised how steady his raspy voice came out.

He kneeled down, and the Magistrate gazed at him with a highly consternated face, although he waited for his body guard to speak.

"Save her. Please."

When the healers had taken her out of his arms he watched all the blood on his hand and hands before realizing he owed explanations. He didn't give them.

"Those Nobuseris are still out there. I dealt with a little part of them, but the ship is still flying."

"You went after them alone?" Tessai asked.

Kyuzo didn't answer, and instead looked at the Magistrate. Ayamaro had taken out a fan and seemed sick white. "Yes, well. We'll inform the Emperor about that. You stay here, Kyuzo."

He didn't, and as soon as he was able to slip out he returned to the sword shop. He spent a few hours burying Mushi in the garden and cleaning up the mess, rearranging the scattered weapons back in their place although the display looked meagre compared to its previous state. When he was done he closed the front doors tight and returned to Kougakyo.

He did not know when and how quickly the Emperor took care of the remains of the rebellious Nobuseri, but he did not care and not inquire.

She had been taken in by the best healers of Kougakyo, and was assured to survive. Although scared for life. She had been unresponsive till now, and even when he sat beside her during those long hours of the night she refused to open her eyes.

She'd have to live with those scars all her life. Kyuzo wasn't certain how far they extended, and how many she had, but by the amount of gauze and bandages that covered her face and back he knew they would not simply fade to pale lines, and that they would be large marks on her pale skin, that would move when she breathed and scotch passerbys' eyes. They'd hurt when humidity would daunt, and curve on her face if she ever smiled again, and she had lost that rare beauty to her heart-shaped face and freckled complexion. When the sky bathed itself mercury blue and the room was dark, he'd sometimes reach for her hand and hold on to it, quietly, without a frown or pout or smile on his face. Always so inexpressive on the outside, because the sad smile was inside.

One night she finally opened her eyes. A scouring lump of bitter anxiety formed in his throat when she slowly turned to look at him, and he wished for those green eyes to look at him the way they had always done, with that quiet understanding. But he saw only vivid, burning pain, and he squeezed her hand tighter.

"We're even now."

The days of his woeful silence continued as Omine healed inside the Magistrate's residence behind closed doors and groping curiosity. Kyuzo harboured himself to his job even more dutifully, perhaps to make up for his latest carelessness and distraction, and no one dared to say anything. Even Hyogo did not dare to bother, now knowing well that the most quiet ones are always the most dangerous, and even if it often seemed tempting to disturb the half frozen statue that the blond samurai had resumed to be.

After weeks Omine spoke to him the first time, expressing her wish to go back home. That night he covered her with a cloak and brought her back.

They did not speak during the entire trip and when they had reached the house he stopped a few paces away from the stairs. She continued on walking, trying her best to keep her posture straight and her steps steady, and when she was about to open the doors he pronounced her name.

"Omine."

She stopped, and turned just slightly toward him. He could see the tip of the scars on her face shining in the moonlight.

"Goodbye, Kyuzo. See you later. Maybe never."

She entered and closed the doors behind her.


	4. Flourish

.flourish

Summer whittled itself away, along with its whining cicadas and rushes of summer breath that would make children think of games. Autumn came down with a tumult of the brightest of leaves, erasing the weightlessness summer had enstored and turning the world into an array of the most bucolic shades. Gone was youth nostalgia of summer and into vintage savour it slipped. Winter brought gelid puffs of breath and many deaths.

Kougakyo went on being the merchant city it was, without much predicament to ruffle its bustling life style, and Kyuzo went on with being the silent body guard who wore his heart heavy against his chest. And then spring returned, and it was a spectacle to be breathed in, sought for, and embraced. Months passed by quickly, and the word 'samurai' came to die once again, wilting away with the warm days' breeze.

He came to see her often, although often was not often enough, and he did not try to slip out of his frame too much.

The first time he found her sitting on the stairs behind, staring at the grave he had dug up for Mushi beside the sleeping rose bush. The front doors had been opened, and he had slipped inside, still in his everlasting read coat, to sit close beside her.

Her scars had healed into pale rough line work. The two scars on her face ran along her right cheek, criss-crossing beside her nose, and although they did not touch her lips they would bend with a smile. She did not show him her back and so he could only guess.

Upon those first days they did not speak, and they allowed silence to be their conversation. Omine did not hover much around her workshop anymore, and one day he was the one to take the katana she had started a long time ago, resuming the polishing. When he did this she'd stare and he'd look up, and there went the vast and free world. He had been afraid she'd had lost an eye after the happenings, but her green gaze was the same, although it was not challenging or pressing anymore. Just quaint and slowly breathing in his presence.

During one rainy autumn evening, when night was being tucked in, he found her lying on the floor of one of the many empty rooms of the house. She had changed into a kimono the color of sapphire, her wild, curling red hair and pale face contrasting. She had her arms wrapped around herself and he could see the start of the scars on her neck, where the kimono was loosened, and his steps quickened.

"Don't come closer, Kyuzo."

He stood quietly for a minute before sitting down and turning his back to her lying form.

The rain was plundering overheard, but it felt as if it was hanging dry around them. He said nothing, giving her space to soak up her subconscious, hoping she could pardon him for his lack of comforting words.

"I feel like I've lost something. But I don't know what. And I'm not talking about skin or the dog."

He heard the silk of the kimono ruffle as she lifted herself up to sit, their two bodies now back to back. Her voice was poised and devoid of emotions. She didn't seem saddened, or nostalgic. Maybe a bit regretful. Discouraged, too.

"I can't put my finger on it. It's like… like…" He turned around, putting a hand on her shoulder.

"I've dishonoured my father, and my brother. They would have never let something like this happen. I guess I was wrong with myself. I thought I was stronger. I…"

He turned her around and wrapped her in his arms, carefully lying one hand on the back of her head and the other at the end of her back. He tucked her into the folds of his red coat, and she obliged. Without a tear, without a sob or a weep. She did not cry and only wrapped her own arms around his torso, laying her head on his shoulder.

"We're not born as gods," her whispered.

But, as he held on to her, he couldn't stop thinking that she had not deserved such cruel punishment. She was not the one who killed men without a second thought and gathered blood on her hands only to wipe it away without a care later. If there was anyone that should have received a punishment it was him, he who turned the art of killing into damning. And accepted it whole heartedly.

"If I had come sooner,"

He felt her tense.

"I should have known. I knew." But I didn't do anything. I knew the Nobuseri were still around but I didn't even bother.

She was wriggling away from his embrace, and her gaze had soaked up with anger. "I know what you're doing. Blaming yourself. Thinking that it shouldn't have happened to me. I thought you smarter than that!"

He blinked, slightly taken aback.

"Nothing is ever fair. There's nothing you could have done, there was nothing you were entitled to do. I didn't ask you to come back. You're a warrior, you've been on the battlefield, and you should know all this better than me. If you want to survive you'll have to be more pitiless."

She brought a hand to her face, frowning, and she was about to get up when he held her down and ran his thumb over her scars. "Omine, you're still a beautiful woman."

She laughed; a bitter sound of mockery. "You think I care about beauty? Please. I'm even grateful for those scares. They make me look intimidating."

But its hurts, he thought as she turned around.

There, the scars on her neck were blinking at him again. He lifted a hand and gently pulled the kimono off her shoulders and down her back.

Scars, large and small, long and short, criss-crossing or curving. It was a shocking sight, and where her own knife had cut the flesh had turned white and glistening.

He saw a smirk tug at her lips. "Admit it, I look tougher than you."

That night she saw him out again, red hair waving softly in the wind as she spoke that same curious sentence again. "See you later, maybe never."

After that, he was worried she'd never be nudged back to normal. He did not know how to help, and even though she did not fall into a hysterical fit of despair, she had closed up. Like a flower, she seemed more remote. Angry with herself and resolved to fix the dishonour she had caused, but he knew she was at lost as to how to do it. When he was not with her he worried internaly, and his manners became brusquer, causing intimidation to turn to fear, and he could not find himself a woman fit for distraction. They always looked at him with such a frightened stare. But her old self flickered back to life bit by bit, somehow, and she took up a habit of expecting his visit. She would sometimes take out a flute and play for him little melodies that rung sweetly in the air, and when he gave her a questioning look she only said 'one of my many secrets talents.'

She resumed the polishing of the katana, and he'd come by when he could, always leaving with the same little phrase escaping her lips. See you later, maybe never.

"Why do you say that," he asked her once. Spring was on the brim again, and it had been one year since they had enjoyed it together for the first time.

"Because it's true," she said as she kept on rubbing the blade with a stone, carefully, making sure not to disrupt the hard work she had put into the blade. It was turning out into a beautiful weapon. "You might not come back. You might meet someone and start a battle, and die like a true samurai. Or you might indeed show up a week later." She smirked, and he said nothing, resting his chin on his arm placed over his knee.

Dying in battle was the best way for a samurai to die, but he had not yet had a good battle since the war ended.

"I think it's done."

He glanced at her. She had lifted the blade in the sun, and the star was caught in the steel. She picked up the pommel and started putting the pieces together. The finished product was a simple but sturdy blade, with a discreet shape of a dragon incrusted at the beginning of the blade, just below the habaki.

"For who is it?"

"For me," she said matter-of-factly, and somehow he had known she'd say just that.

He got up and marched down the stairs, unsheathing his twin katanas. Omine blinked.

"Get up," he said, but she didn't budge.

"I won't be able to even put a scratch on you."

"Try me."

"I wasn't able to defend myself against those bandits."

"You didn't have a proper weapon."

"I did. You're going to be disappointed, I assure you."

He lifted a brow, and when she still didn't budge he made her rise to her feet himself. He ran his thumb over her scars. "I believe you can. I bet your father taught you how to fight as well."

She locked her hands around the pommel with some unease. "My brother, actually."

Kyuzo tightened his grip and waited for her to attack. Omine sighed and shook her head. But when she stroke he knew she was giving it her best, and then he replied with his own sequence.

For many minutes they spared, springing backwards, then forward, angling on the sides and falling into a rhythmical dance. Omine's speed and strength grew bigger as they fought, and slowly he started seeing the skills she had been taught, the strength she had earned in her every day work finally reflecting in her strong, precise blows. The grass stirred under their footsteps, the wind toned around the clangs of their blades as they met and left. He saw how glee soared in her eyes, too be moving once again, and for the many heart beats that followed they were kept alive, anchoring themselves to each other with each strike. She was good, maybe not as good as a properly trained warrior, but for once he was fighting without facing an arrogant or boastful opponent, and inwardly he smiled.

Until he locked her blow and sent her katana flying behind her. It buried itself in the ground and Omine dropped her arms. She was flushed, her cheeks having become roses of blush that made her scars stand out, and her blue kimono heaved under each of her breaths. Wisps of her red hair had freed themselves from the not, and she looked lovely. This was the first time Kyuzo swallowed the desire to bring his lips to hers.

"I pity those who have fallen under your blades," she said with a little smile, before going back to fetch her katana. He sheathed his own swords and looked away as something in his chest swayed.


	5. The Red Bird

_.the red bird_

Three years passed, and the world kept on turning as they aged slightly divided, and yet the same. Each day she was becoming more of a woman of lacquered thoughts and prominent mind, and the abrasions left on her skin quietly carved into her youthful vigour. She stayed the perceiving and witty girl he had met, while he did not change much of his brisk and fleeting attitude, albeit he grew more desirous to be vast and free, waiting for the day he'd be spurred back into place. More importantly, they made it through those calm years back to back, and its only when he was beside her that he could catch a wif of those relic old times before the Great War, which she cherished in the memory of her father, brother, and his too.

And then that day, and that man, finally came.

_Shimada Kambei._

The moment their blades met, Kyuzo felt something break in his chest. As the dark-skinned man swiped a hit towards him, he found himself laced with a challenge, and his eyes slightly widened as multiple of his strikes were pared, and when the counter-attacks succeeded. He had never, not since the Great War, encountered another breathing being that successfully locked his neck with a blade within barely a few minutes, no, a few seconds, and on that day Kyuzo knew he had found another competent Samurai, worthy of being compared to. Even after the battle he was having trouble thrusting his thoughts away from the fact he wanted to fight again. This time without any distractions, and only the blades between them, and the adrenaline-dosed realisation someone would die in the battle.

He wanted to have the honour of Kambei's death, but he wouldn't have it while he had Hogyo, the Magistrate and everyone else buzzing for his life, too.

"Something interesting happened today?"

He had found her on the front steps of her house, playing flute and obviously waiting for him. Now she was leaning against the wall, arms crossed and eyes closed as she allowed sunshine to warm up her face. He had been seating a few paces away, hunched, with his arm on his knee and his chin on his arm and with his gaze lost.

"I can feel those thoughts of yours churning like a black cloud."

"I fought someone today."

"Oh?"

She blinked an eye open, and she offered him all her attention. He didn't say anything for several other minutes, narrowing his eyes more and more. He was feeling ignited, and all he wanted to do was get back to Kougakyo and face that Kambei again. He couldn't care less what Ayamaro had to say, or how badly he wanted that group of samurai caught. Only he would have the honour of Kambei's death. Only he.

He sighed, and passed a hand through his blond hair. Omine smirked lightly, and then she started laughing. A rough low sound he didn't hear often. Her smiles, her happiness were often in her eyes, and not in her mouth or voice. Now he was looking at her from the corner of his slanted red eyes, unsure if he wanted to know what was amusing her so much.

"It's another Samurai," he said in his raspy voice.

" _Ahh._ "

_Ahh._

"I was wondering when you'd bump into him," she said, and he lifted his head.

She met his gaze. "What, you thought I was done roaming around Kougakyo? I may not be as productive as once, but I still have to carry serious business. I know who they are. It's a young priestess who's hiring them. I saw them talking to some make-belief samurai who all but accepted their pleas." She smiled and looked in the distance. "But they've found a few willing, haven't they? See, samurai are back. You should join them."

For that to be he'd have to quit being Ayamaro's body guard. That would not be a regretted course of action. But he didn't care about the others. It was only Kambei he was interested about. After their battle, he had been promised a rematch. And that rematch would only come after they were done helping that priestess. Far too long.

But he could wait. He would wait for another battle.

Because just like Omine, Kambei had known. Kambei had seen in him the samurai from the first glance. Just like Omine, Kambei had understood Kyuzo without even exchanging words. Where Omine had put a sword in his hands, Kambei had put wonderment in their battle. And the wonderment was shared by the older samurai, too. Kyuzo knew the older samurai wanted him in his team, and that it was just a matter of time before Kyuzo would betray his well-respected place by Ayamaro's side to follow, anchored by the promise of a rematch. He closed his eyes. The impatience was burning.

He felt a hand on his knee and looked up at those green eyes.

"Kyuzo, you have to go. You've already decided, haven't you?" A knowing smile spread on her lips. "You're not a dog, Kyuzo. You can't keep on being forced by the Magistrate to follow him around like a pet. I bet you haven't had a good fight in a long time, and our little duels don't count. I'm not match for you, but that Kambei is."

Indeed, he hadn't had a good fight in a long time. He had tuned himself in his frame as protector, and there had, yes, been some advantages. He had not worried where he'd find the daily portions or rice. Or where he'd lay his head at night. He had not been reduced to the pathetic status of a thief, and his blades had been kept clean and his senses trained. He had not become one of those roaming men who still called themselves samurai when they couldn't even defeat a simple opponent because of how numbed their skills had become. He had escaped a miserable faith and found protection in the luxury his position had offered, but grown quieter, stiller and tamed. But as he looked into Omine's eyes he saw that she understood that it was all over. And she had been the beginning of the end.

"Omine."

"Hmm?"

"Why did you save me?" He looked into the pool of her green eyes, hoping she would not look away and repeat what she had said before. Her gaze did not falter, but the pronounced words were not the ones he had been hoping for.

"Because I c-"

"That's a lie."

She smiled, and leaned back. The birds around them sang out their braying way of cadence.

"Very well. I saved you because I wanted to. I wanted you to carry those swords. I wanted you to go out there and shine and I wanted everyone to see proper Samurai still existed. I've been extremely selfish, I apologize. Are you satisfied?"

He crossed his legs and put both hands on his knees. "Also. Why the two blades and not one?"

He saw her take a deep breath, and when he looked at him she smiled. She smiled for real. Not a smirk, not a little grin. A true, wide smile that showed her white teeth and squeezed her scars. She was smiling as if she was the mother of a son who had just asked why the sun ran across the sky every day.

"Because you're like a bird, Kyuzo. You need two wings to fly."

He stared, quiet like a koi in the pond. That moment was the second time he felt like taking her face and pulling her into a kiss. He had to desist again.

When night had fallen they were both seated on the stairs behind the house. He was looking at her from the corner of his eyes and she was running a cloth over her katana. She had her back turned to him, and her long hair was draped over her back. He came nearer and sat down behind her, taking wisps of her dark tresses into his hands. He felt her stop and freeze, but he continued to run his fingers in her hair, until he had divided it into multiple sections and started braiding it. He knew she was smirking.

"Oh, my."

"One of my many secret talents," he murmured.

They were standing before the house a few days later. She was wearing her dark blue kimono again, and had cut down a few of the white roses that grew in her garden. She held one in her hand, rolling it between her fingers.

"You don't have to kill him, Kyuzo. Don't be such a brute. I bet he's a really nice man, and you're the one who's been complaining during all those years that there was no one out there for you to fight properly. Now that you've found your soul mate, can't you let him live? Make a friend, not a corpse."

His lips tugged into a smirk. He knew she understood his motives, but she had always been just at heart, and she was a woman. A woman he admired, though. She crossed her arms then, and looked at him mischievously. "Well, have fun out there. I bet I won't be seeing you for some time."

Probably not. Kambei was being quick and moving around too fast, and Kyuzo was already neglecting his duties by spending time outside of Kougakyo when he was supposed to be hunting down the dark samurai. But he'd get to it. He stared at Omine carefully once last time. Her hair was still braided, so long and so red, and her scars had a vibrate gleam to them. She had been right. They did give her a tougher look.

The sky overhead was cutting and bright, the sun an assertive blond this afternoon, as it glowered upon the quiet forest. Kyuzo's eyes gazed up at the house that had been his refuge for the past three years, then at the clouds that dispersed themselves, the wind waving him as though he was an orphan that jumped in the sea. Omine tossed her head above, wondering what he was looking at so intensely, but he didn't say a word and took a step forward.

"When I'll be back, I'll show you the worl-" he said.

"No."

He blinked, and stopped. She shook her head. "No, Kyuzo. Don't make promises. You know how badly those work when one sets off to war. It _is_ a war you're going to fight, even if you consider it just like a task before you can settle down a big macho fight with Kambei. But don't make promises."

And he knew why. He nodded, and she titled her head.

"See you later, Kyuzo," she started saying but she didn't have time to finish. He crossed the last steps between them like wind, bent down and put his lips on hers. He felt the little jump of surprise, but she didn't slip away and he took her face. The kiss deepened, and their breaths became one, but it was over soon, and he touched his forehead with hers for a second as he murmured the rest and ran his thumb over the scars on her face. Her green eyes were wide but smiling.

"-or maybe never."

His hand trailed over her arm and then he was one step away. Than two and he was turning around, walking away, his red coat swaying around his legs, his twin blades in his back, his blond hair over his eyes.

Omine watched him go the way she had wanted him to; without looking back, marching off to war, finally ready to live. She waved still, but he didn't have his eyes on her to see it. There was a strange sense of déjà vue.

During the following weeks she traveled to Kougakyo often, learning bit by bit how famous the Seven Samurai were becoming. She saw men's spirits lift, inspiration bloom in their hearts. They were admiring those warriors who had set off to fight against the bandits with only the promise of rice, and she'd smile, and hope they'd win.

And the wind blew and the sun ran across the sky, nights shrivelled away and there came chaos and trouble for Kougakyo and the emperor. There was war and longing for quieter times, and always she hoped he was making good use of his katanas. The days passed and he did not come back, even when news of the winning battles spread.

That day she was sitting on her front stairs, accepting faith had opted for the never.

She knew it had ended the way every samurai wanted it to end; in battle and around comrades. She hoped someone had wept over his body, and if not, she'd be the one to do it. But not today. Today she looked up to the sky with a smirk, and went walking back into her house.

The little rest of the weapons were bundled up and put aside for sale. She gathered her tools and locked them inside, cut the last of roses and swept the floors. She opened old cupboards, drawers and dressers and took out the ancient armours. She buckled up her katana and locked the front doors of her house. As she walked away, she surprised herself with a tear, but wiped it away promptly.

She lifted her gaze and searched, in the foliage of the trees, in a ray of sunshine, through the sky and in the depths of her heart, she searched with a stirring breath for the hazardous flight of a red bird.

**Fin.**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That's it! My tribute to Kyuzo. 8) This little story was inspired by the fact the anime doesn't give that much insight on the characters' past, so this came almost instantly after I was done watching.


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